


without your love there is no meaning

by Evedawalrus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: ;), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confessions, M/M, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 24, Whirl is mentioned but not here, i stole it from jro, there was a very cool heist, yes this is the real actual secret LL25 script
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 02:43:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evedawalrus/pseuds/Evedawalrus
Summary: Minimus is pensive after their final battle. Megatron has something to say.





	without your love there is no meaning

On the bridge of the Lost Light, Minimus was staring out the window, down at the surface of the planet below. His plating itched, as if heated by stares that came from nowhere. He rolled his shoulders, feeling oddly exposed without both of his sets of armor. Everyone else was planetside, probably celebrating the completion of their journey. Whirl, even though most of his legs had been blown off, had been boasting about how he was totally a Prime now, commanding everyone to call him ‘Whirlimus Prime’ and teasing Minimus with the fact that  _ he _ had opened the Matrix and ‘Mr. Autobot Code’ hadn’t. Then, Minimus had simply sighed and shook his head. But now?

...Now, Whirl’s words wouldn’t get out of his processor. Minimus crossed his arms, shifting a bit every few seconds, trying to find a comfortable stance. It was difficult; he could count on one hand the times he had been his irreducible self in the last two million years. Part of him wondered if he could even remember how to transform properly—not that he  _ would _ , of course. He’d die before he let Rodimus see his alt mode. Or Whirl, for that matter. Oh, drat—the image of Whirl holding aloft the empty shell of his Matrix and jeering had sprung to the center of his mind again. He was  _ not _ jealous. Minimus was sure of that. Whirl may have been a dangerous gremlin with a tendency for violence, but he had proven several times over to be a valuable ally—albeit one that called his superiors annoying nicknames. Minimus had no ownership over the short-lived Matrix; he knew that.

Yet… Minimus shifted his weight from side to side. He felt… ashamed. He had let down everyone by not being able to open the Matrix. On top of that, immediately after he had been blown out of his armor—both sets. Now, he was- small. Unarmed. Useless. Unease coiled in his tanks as he sighed. As the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, he had been tasked with doing just that. As second-in-command of the Lost Light, he had been tasked to keep the ship in order when his co-captains could not. But standing on the bridge, he thought on the fact that their journey was over. What role could he possibly play? What… what was his purpose, now?

Suddenly, his optics detected a shadow next to him. 

Megatron was standing there, hands clasped behind his back, staring out the window the same way Minimus had. Minimus barely restrained himself from jumping. Then, he realized that he was in his irreducible form; the one version of himself which Megatron had never actually seen. He felt his plating prickle, conscious of his diminutive stature, his smooth, unadorned frame. His faceplates blushed a light purplish color. He waited anxiously for Megatron to say something about it, but the other mech was quiet, seemingly unaware of Minimus's internal conflict. 

Unable to stand the silence any longer, he cleared his throat. Megatron glanced to him, and Minimus felt incredibly awkward for a second before he said, "Megatron. I'm-... I apologize for my failure." 

Megatron gave him a confused look. "What do you mean, Minimus?" 

Minimus’s jaw worked for a second, caught off guard. "What do I- when I was trying to open the Matrix, I said I-“ Minimus looked down, away from Megatron’s gaze, “..I couldn’t do it. You told me that I could. But I proved you wrong.” His hands curled into fists at his sides, and he closed his optics. “I couldn’t even save the armor. I couldn’t even stay conscious.”

There was silence. Minimus hated it. He hated feeling-  _ naked _ , he hated being around this mech that made his spark thrash in its chamber, he hated this damn silence so why wouldn’t Megatron say something, anything-

And then, a large hand took his. Minimus’s optics switched on with blinding speed and his head whipped around. 

Megatron was fully facing him, kneeling down to his level and holding his hand. In the back of his mind, Minimus faintly remembered Verity telling him something about kneeling, some human tradition. His spark fluttered in his chest.

“Minimus,” Megatron said with eyes that were far too soft and a grasp that was far too gentle, “you don’t need to apologize for anything. I don’t care if you can open a Matrix or not. I don’t care about any of that.” 

Minimus stuttered, “But- I didn’t- the armor, I couldn’t-” 

Megatron cut him off with an exvent that sounded almost like a chuckle. “Minimus, the armor can rust for all I care. I never liked it.”

Minimus’s optics widened as something sharp stabbed into his spark. “You never liked… I see.” He began to turn away, his voice cold, but he was interrupted- again.

“No, Minimus.” Megatron wouldn’t let him go. The mech gently took Minimus’s chin, drawing him back around to see that Megatron was  _ smiling at him _ . The shock of it made Minimus forget the hurt for a second, long enough for Megatron to speak again. “I never liked the Magnus armor because I never liked Ultra Magnus.” 

Minimus didn’t know what to do. Megatron’s hand was still on his face, now cradling the curve of his cheek. He realized just how small he was in comparison to the mech speaking to him. Megatron could pick him up with one hand. The thought made his cheeks bright purple. 

“Minimus Ambus, however…” There was something in his tone, gravely and weary as his voice was, that made the way he said Minimus’s name different. If he was not so afraid of thinking it, he’d describe it as…  reverent. Megatron’s thumb rubbed gentle circles across Minimus’s cheek. 

“...I’ve liked him for a very long time.”

It was then that Minimus did not know what to feel. Megatron had abandoned them- but he came back. Stronger, and softer, and… and…

“You know, when you didn’t pick up your comm... I thought you had died.” Megatron’s gaze had shifted, somewhere down and to the left. “I thought I’d never get to hear you sing again.”

Minimus choked. When had Megatron…?

“I thought, for one terrifying minute, that I would lose the one bot in this universe who understood me as well as I did him. I thought that I had waited eight hundred years for nothing.” 

Megatron’s optics were faded. Through the hand on his cheek, Minimus could feel minute vibrations. He was trembling.

“I-... I thought I would never be able to tell you that I love you.” 

Like a brick through a pane of glass, Minimus felt his resolve shatter in slow motion. His faceplates went slack, and the racing electricity in his circuits screeched to a stop. He stopped breathing. 

Back on Mederi, Magnus had felt something off. He had felt a hand, just slightly smaller than his own, trace its way down his arm- but when he looked for the culprit, no one had been next to him. There had been similar sensations: arms that wrapped around his waist, warmth on his cheek, a voice from nowhere, reciting words that sounded like… poetry. And once, Magnus had seen a flash of grey out of the corner of his optic, a blot of red at its center. Each and every time, no one was there. Each and every time, Ultra Magnus pushed down a strange, sad pulsing of his spark.

Now, those sensations came back in full force. His spark pushed against the walls of its chamber so hard his chest hurt with the pressure. Minimus laid his free hand over the one Megatron had at his cheek, and leaned into the black palm. He heard vents hitch. 

“...Yet I have proved you wrong,” he whispered, lips brushing the inside of Megatron’s wrist. 

There was a beat of silence.

Then, in one swift move, Megatron swept Minimus up in his arms, twirled him around, and dipped him into a deep, deep kiss.  Minimus squeaked in shock at first, but with Megatron’s engine rumbling so happily, he could not help but grab the sides of his partner’s helm and pull him in deeper. 

Perhaps the loss of the armor wasn’t so bad, Minimus thought as grey arms held him safely in their grip. Megatron would never have been able to lift Ultra Magnus.

**Author's Note:**

> this is what LL25 would have been if hasbro wasn't homophobic


End file.
